


The Devil's Sooty Brother

by weepingnaiad



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Grimm (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grimm (TV) Fusion, Blutbad, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Gen, M/M, POV Clint Barton, Police Procedural, Protective Nick Fury, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: Clint's got a concussion.  That's the only explanation for all these weird animal heads he's hallucinating on people all around him, right?  Nah, it seems he's a Grimm, whatever the fuck that means.  Well, hell, what is his life anyway?
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Nick Fury, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 16
Kudos: 55
Collections: Clint Barton Bingo, Winterhawk Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mashup and is set within a Grimm-like world while I take lots of liberties with that world. Tags are likely to change as this goes along. I hope to make each chapter, after the introductory three, mostly self-contained, like a television show where the characters will develop as we go, but the police procedural part should get wrapped up per chapter.
> 
> I am massively grateful for [FadedSepia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia) for the speedy beta and the fabulous support. I couldn't have done this without you!

Clint's _tired._ Everything hurts. Yesterday was hell and he dreads the paperwork. Why does it feel like Portland gets more than its share of crazies? At least he's not one of the uniforms. They'd had to deal with those asshats, the Proud Boys, on top of everything else. At least Clint was spared that shitstorm.

But he gets to deal with a paper shitstorm instead. He tucks his gun into its holster, runs his hands through his hair, ruffling it "artfully" - because there's no way it'll ever be tamed - then leans in close to the mirror. He's got a scabbed up split lip, a black eye, and a band-aid on the bridge of his nose, plus a couple of scrapes and minor bruises. At least the other guy looks worse. Of course he would look _dead,_ if Natasha had had her way.

And what the hell was the guy thinking? Stalking the community college and trying to drag off three girls at once? Clint can't decide if he was a future serial killer or serial rapist, but he's damned glad they'd gotten there in time. He touches the back of his head and winces at the large goose egg. He's still a bit hazy about what he'd seen and Natasha swears that the guy's face didn't morph into a fanged snake-like creature. And she has to be right because shape shifting is just a thing in the movies. Clint's still confused about how the guy had dropped him from behind, can't quite figure out how the guy had managed to cause a shovel to hit him in the head, but that's Natasha's story and Clint's the one with the concussion, so her observations are far more reliable than Clint's.

Still, something's off. Clint feels it down to his toes. And he learned long ago to listen to that tingling feeling.

~~*~~

Clint steps out of his house just as Natasha pulls up in her black sports car. There's two coffees in her cup holders and Clint sags into his seat with relief. "I love you," he says, moaning around a first sip of dark, caffeinated goodness.

Natasha just snorts. "I don't know why you don't just buy a good coffee maker," she says. "Yours is disgusting. It makes tar, not coffee."

"Don't bad mouth, Bunny. She's been with me since my freshman year of college."

"And that's the problem," she says, eyes still on the road. "Have you ever cleaned it?"

Clint gasps and turns to glare at his partner. "That would _ruin_ the flavor!" he scolds. "Besides, I think the sludge is all that's holding her together."

"You're not broke, Clint. You _can_ afford nice things."

"Yeah, yeah," he waves her off and sinks back, both hands gripping the super sized Americano in his hands.

He can afford nice things, but old habits die hard, and he has his priorities. Buying a house had been the first thing he'd done after he'd been on the force for three years. It had been hard -- no matter that Nick was right there beside him -- to take on that much debt for more years than he'd lived. But he'd done it even if his hands had been shaking the whole time. And he's got a nice place that he's proud of. It's in a good neighborhood with lots of kids and a smattering of retirees. And Natasha is right, he doesn't have to live like a miser, but he's saving up to finally pay Nick back for his college loans. He can live a bit miserly for a while longer.

"We're here," Natasha says, and she must be repeating herself since she's standing outside the car, ducking down to get Clint's attention.

"Oh, sorry!" Clint says, scrambling out of the low-slung car. "Was daydreaming, I guess."

"Are you sure you don't need to stay at home?" she asks, palm gentle against the back of his head. "You did black out for a couple of minutes yesterday."

Clint shakes his head and pulls away from her touch. "I'm _fine,_ " he insists, because he _is._ He won't let people think he's weak.

He's taking a drink and walking, listening to Natasha ramble about the asshole they'd caught. Her voice is soothing and it's nothing he hasn't heard a million times before, so he's zoned out and half paying attention to the world when a woman walks by who has the head of a _pig._ Clint startles, spills hot coffee on his hand and yelps as he's turning to see what in the hell is going on. But she's just a normal, middle-aged woman. No pig head. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He blinks and just stands there staring at her retreating back.

"Clint?" Natasha had kept walking when Clint stopped, so now she's turned back toward him, her face mildly concerned. Which, for Natasha means she's super worried about him.

The grin he pulls out is wide and a bit sheepish, as innocent as he can make it. "I'm fine, just daydreaming again."

She puts her hand on his forearm and leans in close as they resume walking toward the bullpen and their desks. "Are you sure?"

Her eyes narrow and she pulls back, giving him an intent glare. "You better not be putting me on to get out of the paperwork," she hisses. "You owe me from the Rutherford case!"

Clint holds up his hands. "I swear! I'm not doing anything! And I'll do the paperwork, just like we agreed!"

"You better."

~~*~~

Clint huffs out a weary breath and drops his head to the desk. His eyes are burning and his head is swimming.

"You got a problem, Barton?" Of course Captain Coulson catches him. Nothing gets by Coulson. "Are you sure you should be in today? Detective Romanoff told me what happened."

Clint slowly lifts his head, reaches for his coffee and takes a sip before turning to reply with whatever smartass retort his bureaucracy-addled brain can come up with. But instead of something witty, he stutters out nonsense because Coulson has fangs and red eyes and slightly pointed ears and Clint ends up shouting, "What the ever lovin' fuck is going on here!" as he jumps up and dumps his coffee all over himself with Coulson's hand steadying him.

Clint pulls away but when he looks again, Coulson is his normal, unflappable receding hairline, suit-wearing self. "I--"

"Go home, Barton," Coulson orders, voice firm and decisive without raising it as he heads back to his office. "The paperwork can wait."

"Now I know something hinky is going on, sir," he says. "You never say that."

Coulson leans against the doorframe of his office and gives Clint that little half-smirk, half-smile grin and a raised eyebrow. "Ah, Romanoff, there you are," he says to someone behind Clint's back. "Can you please see your partner home?" Coulson asks. "He clearly needs some rest."

"I'm fine," Clint declares, but his distraction and the fact that he's wearing his coffee says otherwise.

"C'mon, Clint," Natasha urges. "I'll stop by that Pho place you like on the way," she offers, and that must mean that Clint is more injured than he'd imagined. She bundles Clint out, saluting Coulson as they pass.

"You gonna stay?" he asks, voice more than a bit whiny.

"Not tonight," she says. "I have a date."

He blinks, studiously ignores the very rabbity looking guy they pass in the parking lot, and then gives Natasha a wink and a leer. "Are you seeing _Samuel_ again?"

She elbows him. Hard. "Hey! I'm wounded!"

"You're an ass."

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ ass."

She snorts, but she's smiling, so Clint's going to call it a win. He still hasn't met this Sam guy, but he makes Natasha smile so he gets a free pass. For now. But Clint is going to meet him. And probably run a detailed background check on him. No one but his conscience needs to know that part, though.

And he absolutely positively does not count the number of people that he hallucinates having animal heads on the drive home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slowest of slow-burns starts here since we finally get to meet Bucky (and Steve).

The final straw is a few days later when Natasha's in Coulson's office. Clint's not staring and he's not reading Coulson's lips, but he is curious. That's a good trait for a cop to have, so sue him.

He swears that Natasha, for the briefest of moments, turns into this white panther thing, complete with yellow eyes and nearly invisible spots. Clint startles and knocks a large 3-ring binder off his desk onto the floor, drawing Coulson's attention. His lips thin as he meets Clint's eyes, then he's flipping the blinds in his office closed and Clint's left shaken.

It's been nearly a week since he got hit on the head. He should be all healed up. So why's he still hallucinating? It's unnerving, disconcerting, and unsettling. He can't tell Natasha about it. She'd insist he needed an MRI or other tests. All the tests. She can be an overprotective mother hen when Clint's hurt.

Clint drags out his phone, shoots Natasha a text:  
_I'm out for the night. When you're done brown nosing Coulson, tell me what's going on?_

He texts Nick that he's dropping by and then heads for his car, an old, battered Toyota Landcruiser that's seen better days, but, just like Bunny, he's not replacing Lando just yet.

Something's going on and there's only one person he can talk to about it. Nick's a lot of things, but he's always been there for Clint when Clint needs him; was even there for Clint when, as an angry, abandoned teen, he hadn't trusted anyone, let alone the tall eyepatch-wearing black man who'd claimed to be a distant relative. Clint had been sullen and surly, especially when Nick said he was going to be Clint's foster dad.

Nick had come to be so much more than that. He'd become Clint's _father,_ in every way but the last legal definition and they'd even fixed that omission right before Clint's eighteen birthday.

The offices of the Oregon State Federal Bureau of Investigation are in the middle of downtown in the new bunker-like Federal building. Clint has to park in the parking garage across the street and pay the outrageous parking fee even though it's already after five. There's no free lunch and there's no free parking in downtown.

He takes the tunnel under the road and is in the elevator up to the top floor when he gets Natasha's text. It's just a poop emoji with no answers. Clint might be dying to know what they were talking about, but he can wait. He's confident she'll tell him. They don't keep things from each other.

Nick's offices are surprisingly open and easy to get into, once you get past the metal detectors and the glaring security guards who seem to resent that Clint _gets to keep his gun._ He restrains from sticking his tongue out at them because it'd just be trouble for Nick, and he needs Nick willing to listen to him and not shouting at him for pulling another "boneheaded stunt".

He strides into the office, waves at Daisy while pointedly ignoring Sitwell and Woo. They're assholes and not worth Clint's time.

"Is he busy, Maria?" Clint asks the agent whose desk happens to be closest to Nick's door.

The glare she gives him would burn a hole through titanium, but he just grins in response. Okay, so maybe he's an asshole, too. "I'm not his secretary, Barton."

"Does he have a secretary?" he muses aloud as he steps past her and taps on the door.

"I wouldn't go--"

Her voice is cut off as he barges into Nick's office where he's confronted with two _wolf_ men looming over Nick. "Get down, Nick!" he shouts and draws his gun.

"For fuck's sake, Clint!" Fury shouts as he stands. "Put the gun down!"

The two guys turn, they're holding their hands up looking at Clint like he's crazy. Maybe he is? But they're just _men._ Men with beards. _Hot_ men with beards, no wolves anywhere.

Clint engages the safety and holsters his gun before sagging and dropping into a chair. "Sorry," he says. "I swear I saw," he mumbles, but doesn't finish the thought.

The two guys have backed off to lean against the window behind Nick's desk and Nick is standing next to Clint, one hand on his shoulder. "What's this all about, son?"

Clint shakes his head, blinks a few times, but the guys are still just guys. "I--" He swallows. "This is gonna sound crazy, but I swear they were wolves!" He looks up at Nick, eyes frantic and his heart trying to pound through his chest. "I'm losing it, Nick!"

He buries his face in his hands. "I've gone around the bend, just like they said about Mom."

"Should we go, sir?" one of the guys asks.

"No, I'm going to need you here for this."

Great. His humiliation is complete. Not only has he drawn a gun on two of Nick's agents, but he's embarrassed himself in front of two of the hottest guys he's ever seen in his life, and now they're going to get to witness Nick declaring him unfit.

Nick gives his shoulder a squeeze, scoffing when Clint only curls further into himself. "At least look at me," he orders, though his tone is surprisingly gentle.

Clint swipes a hand down his face and sighs aloud, but he does lift his head. "I don't know what happened. It all started after I got hit on the head--"

He stops himself and shakes his head "No. That's not right. I swore that guy was some sort of snake creature, and _then_ I got hit in the head."

"And then there was Coulson and Nat and," his throat goes dry. "What's wrong with me, Nick?" he asks, voice plaintive. "Am I crazy like Mom was?"

"Ain't a damned thing wrong with you and don't you dare disrespect your mother's memory," Nick's tone goes brittle. "She was an amazing Grimm, one of the best and just because she fell for the wrong guy--"

"Wrong guy?" Clint snorts. "How about fuckin' abusive asshole who ended up killing her and himself?" His voice squeaks on the end, breaks a bit.

"Are you sure we should be here, sir?"

Clint looks up at the two agents. The one who spoke up is fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable and awkward, won't meet Clint's eyes and the other is giving Clint a murder stare that'd have him reaching for his gun if the guy wasn't so ridiculously hot and just casually leaning back, body language defying the glare.

Nick glances over his shoulder. "Did I stutter?"

The guy, blondie, Clint decides to call him, shakes his head. "Of course not."

"Then wait the fuck right there. I'll tell you when I need you to Woge."

Murder stare guy pipes up at that. "I ain't doing tricks on command," he says, voice a low rasp that sends a shiver down Clint's spine. "Sir," he adds, sarcastic.

It's then that it registers that Nick'd used a word he's never heard before. "What's woge?"

Murder stare gives Clint a thoroughly wicked smirk -- panty melting Clint would call it if he wasn't too worried about going mad -- and then says, "I can show him."

"Barnes, you are a menace," Nick says. "Rogers, do something about your partner."

So that's their names. Rogers straightens, turns his own glare on Barnes, distracting Clint. "If I could do something about him, I'da done it a long time ago."

"Whatever, just shut the fuck up for five minutes," Nick barks at them. "Is that too much to ask?"

"No, sir," Rogers answers, elbowing Barnes when he opens his mouth.

Despite the situation, Clint can't help the way his eyes are drawn to Barnes, from his long, wavy hair, to the scruff that can't conceal a strong jawline with a cleft chin, down and down his lean figure to powerful thighs. Clint's brain shorts out and he loses the thread of the conversation. Barnes smirks and then he cocks his head and suddenly he's a wolf!

"What the fuck!" Clint shouts, falls off his chair, scrambles to duck behind the desk as he's reaching for his gun.

"Bucky!" Rogers shouts.

"Barnes!" Nick growls, then bangs on his desk.

"What?" Barnes answers, but he sounds a bit sheepish. "He was staring!"

"Clint, get up here," Nick orders. "Barnes is an asshole and you're not crazy or hallucinating."

Clint's still on his knees, head spinning, heart in his throat. "'M not?" he asks as he looks at Nick who's holding out a hand.

"No, and your mother wasn't any of those things, either," he says. "Now put the gun away and sit down."

Clint slides his gun into his side holster before he takes Nick's hand. He does sit, even if he's twitchy, eyes darting to glance at Rogers and Barnes, too afraid to let them fully out of his sight.

"You're a Grimm."

Nick says it like it should mean something to Clint, or like the word itself is important.

Clint's brow furrows. "Wait, like the fairytales?"

Barnes snorts. "Exactly like," he says, voice drier than the Sahara. "I ain't got all day," he says, tacking on the sir only after Rogers clears his throat.

"Your mother was a Grimm and you are, too," Nick says, ignoring Barnes. "We never know who'll manifest the powers--"

"Powers? Wha'dya mean, powers?"

"Seeing the Wesen for who they really are."

"Wesen?"

Nick nods. "Here, it'll be easier if I show you." He steps to the large bookcase lining one whole wall, does something that drops a facade of books to reveal a safe. He opens that and pulls out a huge old book actually titled "Grimmoire".

"Is that a pun?"

"Nope. None of our ancestors had a sense of humor."

" _Our_ ancestors?" Clint asks, disbelief coloring his words. "So we really are related?"

"I wasn't lying about being distant relatives, Clint," Nick says, tone gentle, as he lays the book down on his desk and opens it.

"Blutbad?"

"That's these two assholes."

"Yeah, we're the Big Bad Wolf," Bucky says, voice doing things to Clint's insides. "Don't stray from the path, little one," he adds in a rumbling purr, and Clint has to fight the heat shooting down his spine.

He can't tell if he's being mocked or not. He looks at Rogers, but he's just shaking his head and rolling his eyes, hopefully at Barnes?

"I don't… what?"

Real smooth Clint.

"Wesen are supernatural creatures. They come in all shapes and sizes," Nick explains. "Most are just like you and me, law abiding people who want to be left alone to live their lives."

"And then there are a shitton of fuckers out there who thrive on hurting others," Barnes pipes up to add. 

"That's where we come in," Rogers is nodding. He's standing straighter, arms crossed over his chest. He looks like some guy on a war poster.

"You?" Clint looks up at Nick.

"My division is full of Wesen," he answers. "It's easier to catch a Wesen with a Wesen."

"Yeah," Barnes snorts. "There's a whole lot more of us than there are of you Grimms." He almost sneers on the last word.

"So wait," Clint barks. "Are you telling me my _partner_ and my _Captain_ are Wesen?"

"Coulson's a good man."

"He's a royal bastard!" Barnes interjects.

"Hey!" Clint has to defend his boss. "He's not that bad."

"No, what Barnes is trying to say, but is being as big of an asshole about it as he can, is that Coulson's dad is one of the European Wesen royals."

"Royal?" Clint blinks. "My captain's what, a prince?"

"Not exactly," Nick answers, "the king, his dad, had an affair."

"Oh," Clint gets being looked down on. "So his mom isn't, uh, Wesen?"

"No, she was," Nick answers. "But she was an American intelligence agent stationed in Europe."

"But--" Clint is having trouble imagining his boss as a _prince._

"Didya miss the part about her being _American?_ " Barnes asks and he's starting to get on Clint's nerves with the attitude.

"Look, Barnes, Big Bad, whatever you call yourself, this is the first I've ever heard of this shit. It's a lot to wrap my head around, so cut me some goddamned fuckin' slack!"

"The royals don't like to 'dilute' their blood lines," Steve explains. "They're pretty hung up on power and want to make sure their heirs are as strong as possible so their mates are carefully vetted."

"Oh," Clint nods. "Guess by being a lowly American, she didn't pass muster."

"It's far more complicated than that, but we're not here to talk about Coulson's lineage," Nick draws Clint's attention back to himself.

"Why didn't you warn me?" Clint asks and tries to keep that note of hysteria from creeping back into his voice.

Nick's leaning against the desk, but his whole demeanor has eased up, like he regrets having to tell Clint this shit. "Why in the hell would I do that to you if you didn't get the power?"

"Um, I guess so I, um, _know?_ "

"It's not a good thing to know. Brings danger down on your head and drags everyone you care about into it," he says. "I was hoping it passed you by. That maybe it was Barney--"

Clint growls low in the back of his throat.

"Besides," Barnes just has to pipe up again, "being a Grimm ain't exactly like winning the lottery. You're not going to be _popular._ "

"Never said I wanted to be," Clint shot back. "I'm a cop, not like I don't already have a target on my back."

Clint turns back to Nick. "So what's the real story?"

"That's the real story. I really was hoping you were going to be spared."

"With my luck, it was always going to be the worst possible outcome."

Clint sags back in his seat, but his eyes are drawn to Barnes who's staring back at him. He looks like he wants to devour Clint and Clint can't tell if it's sexy or menacing.

Then a thought hits him and he whips his head back to Nick. "Natasha's a Wesen?"

"Yes, a Pflichttreue."

"Gesundheit," he replies because what the ever lovin' hell is a _Pflichttreue?_ Then he has to ask, though it hurts, "Did you set us up?"

Nick snorts. "Clint, you found your partner all on your own."

"So you've known about her all along?"

"And she's known about me," Nick replies. "We've established a cordial distance for your sake."

"What now?" Clint asks even though all he really wants to do is crawl into bed and hide forever. He can't believe any of this is real. He knows it is because he trusts his eyes, but it's still a lot to swallow.

"I think right now, you go home, forget any of this happened and we'll put feelers out, see if there's any chatter about a new Grimm in town."

"How'm I supposed to do that?"

"Booze," Barnes answers, "a lot of it."

"Sounds like as good a plan as any," Rogers pipes up as Clint is standing.

"Before you bolt," Nick pulls Clint's attention away from the unfairly hot agents smirking at him. "Take this." He hands Clint a flash drive.

"What is it?"

"It's a digitized copy of the book as well as known cases and the state of the Wesen world right now."

"Politics?"

"What?" Barnes snipes. "You thought only humans could be double-dealing, lying bastards with agendas and schemes and plots?"

Clint blinks at Barnes as he pockets the drive. "Look, Wolfie--"

Nick steps in between the two men, blocking Clint's view of the gorgeous asshole. "Don't let him bait you," he warns, then he reaches out, gives Clint's shoulder a firm squeeze. "Go home, get some rest. And if you get stuck in that brain of yours call me."

"Yeah, okay." He tips his head to Rogers, refusing to make eye contact with Barnes. "Gentlemen," he pauses and gets a wild hair, or another of his usual bad ideas, and continues, "or should I say gentledogs?"

"Asshole!" Barnes spits out, and Clint just laughs all the way out. If it sounds a bit manic, at least he's alone in the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton Bingo square: _Nick Fury_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one (I'm not gonna lie, there is zero consistency on my chapter lengths, so this is to be expected), but we get to see the partners interact just a wee bit more.

Clint makes his way home in a half daze, carefully keeping his attention on the road, never allowing his eyes to stray. Keeping his mind controlled and on topic is far more difficult, as it wants to revisit his entire life, try to figure out how he missed all the signs.

He snags a beer from the fridge, tugs off his boots and then drops onto the sofa.

He's a _Grimm,_ from a long line of them. His _mom_ was one, too. That's gonna take some realigning of his memories. He hadn't imagined his dad's temper or the way he'd lash out when he was drunk. Clint'd never forget being slapped for being too 'mouthy'. But maybe his mom hadn't been the victim he'd always believed? Maybe his family was just collateral damage from this whole "Grimm" thing?

He snorts and swallows the last of his beer. Yeah, right. As if Barney's not just like dear ole dad, quick tempered, solves problems with his fists instead of talking. None of this makes a lick of sense, all of it seems even crazier after four beers in quick succession.

He's halfway through a fifth beer and is running the flash drive through his fingers when the doorbell rings. He's debating whether to answer or not when Natasha barges in.

"Clint?"

She sounds worried and Clint frowns up at her from the sofa. "You," he says and it's mostly a slurred growl.

"What's wrong? What's going on?" she asks, stepping closer.

"What's wrong?" he blurts out, flinging himself up off the sofa and at his partner. He staggers, but she catches him, and the flash drive goes flying.

"You're a-a-a Wesen!" he accuses.

She stiffens.

"You lied to me!" he practically growls at her. "Did I really save you? Or was it all an act?" Pulling away, he starts to pace, arms flying out to punctuate his rant. "Just another job, right? Spy on the _Grimm,_ " he spits out.

When he runs out of steam and calms enough to pay attention to more than the maelstrom of hurt and anger in his chest, he turns to see Natasha standing still as a statue, eyes shuttered, lips drawn into a thin line.

"Is that what you think of me?" she asks, voice brittle. "That'd I'd betray you? For what?"

"I don't know! This shit is crazy and all news to me! I thought I knew you!" His voice is still too loud, still more than a bit frantic.

She sighs, wraps her arms around herself. "You do know me," she says, voice gone small.

A thought comes to him. "Did Nick recruit you? Put you in my path to keep an eye on me?" Nick said that isn't what happened, but Clint can't help but wonder. The thought stings.

"I had no idea who Nick was," she says, voice low, but still frosty. "Until we met," she hesitates. "We came to a mutual agreement." Her demeanor changes, goes hard with anger, eyes snapping fire, but voice still carefully modulated coolness. "For _you_ , we agree to keep out of each other's way."

"Oh," he says, contrite, as guilt starts to register. "Um, so what? How? Me?" he asks, hand going to the back of his neck. "I don't understand."

"What is next is up to you," she says and she's still stiff as a rail, face an icy mask.

"Tash," he wonders if this move'll get him murdered, but he reaches for her, tugs her into a hug, burying his face in her hair. "'M sorry," he mumbles. "Forgive me for being an idiot."

She's unyielding long enough that Clint begins to worry he's caused irreparable harm to their partnership, then her arms come up to hug him. She keeps it short before shoving him away.

"You're an asshole and an idiot," she says, but the chill in her words has bled away, leaving equal parts frustration and fondness.

"I know," he agrees, all meek innocence. "I freaked out."

"You think?" She sits on the sofa and pats a cushion next to her. "So now we talk."

"Do we have to?" he whines, but he's sitting anyway.

"We have to," she says, decisive and firm.

"Aw, Tash, no."

"So what do you want to do now?" she asks ignoring his protests.

"Do I have to do anything?"

"I don't know, Yastreb," she answers, tone gentle. "Grimms were always the monster under the bed. The stars of tales told to terrify misbehaving children." She takes a breath. "It's been hard to trust Nick, even from a distance."

"I'm not," Clint starts, then swallows thickly to make his voice work. "I _wouldn't_ ," he swears. "Tash, ya gotta _know._ I'm not like that. I don't know what any of this even means!"

She huffs, but gives him a soft smile, eyes crinkling slightly. "I know," she assures. "I don't trust Nick, can't get comfortable around him. He's imposing, a bit daunting even, but he's no monster."

"I don't want to hurt anyone. I never asked for this."

Natasha cocks her head and offers her hand. Clint grabs it life a lifeline. "Whether you asked for it or not, it's who you are, so what are you going to do about it?"

Clint sags into the back of the sofa, throws his other arm over his face, but doesn't let go of Natasha. "I don't know. Nick told me to forget all about it for now."

She tugs his arm down, makes him look at her. "I don't think that's a good idea, Clint."

"Why? Wouldn't it be the same as if I wasn't a Grimm, or hadn't manifested or whatever it's called? Why can't I?"

Her eyes are dark pools, brow creased. She bites her lip and Clint's starting to freak out, before she finally answers. "You're not just you anymore. Wesen will _know_. And people who are afraid do stupid things, but people who are afraid _and_ angry do worse than that."

"Are you saying they might come after me?" he squeaks. He's not sure if he should be afraid or not.

"Yeah, you and everyone you care about."

"Well, shit," he swears. "Guess it's a good thing I'm single," he tries to make light of the threat, but a rock has dropped into his stomach and he feels like he's gargled glass.

"You're not alone, Yastreb, I promise."

"Thank fuck for that, Tash," he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton Bingo square: _Free (Natasha Romanoff)_

**Author's Note:**

> The entire story is a fill for my Winterhawk Bingo Square: _Police AU_
> 
> The chapters will be marked for what square that chapter fills.
> 
> Since this is _inspired by_ the Grimm TV show, I chose a Grimm's Fairy Tale for the title. It has no reflection on the story.


End file.
